Read Swift Justice: The Southern Way Online
Authors: R.P. Wolff
Tags: #Mystery, #Police, #Murder, #Fiction, #Legal, #thriller, #Suspense, #Investigation
Swift Justice: The Southern Way
The Southern Way
~~~~
R.P. Wolff
Copyright 2016 © R.P. Wolff
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author or publisher contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the eBook from one of its many distributors.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Please note: The author does not condone racism.
Published by RPW Books - Dallas, Texas
To the Lexinator
Dodge County, Texas
I’m going to die. I know I’m going to die. How do I know this? I know this because I saw their faces. If they were just going to rough me up, they would have worn their white hooded masks. No, they’re going to kill me. I have to escape, but I can’t move. Oh my God, I hope they don’t hurt my family too.
~~~~
Leon Brooks finally regained consciousness. He couldn’t see. He was stuck in a trunk of a car with his hands and feet cuffed. Although he kept trying to wiggle his hands and feet free, he couldn’t release himself from the cuffs. He couldn’t shout either (not that anyone would care) because they tied a rag across his mouth. He could only barely breathe through his nose.
After about ten minutes of desperately trying, he gave up. He knew it was hopeless. He had to gather his thoughts and prepare himself for his certain fate—death. His breathing started to calm down at this realization. He needed to focus. One by one, he thought about his loved ones: his family, his mother, his father, his three brothers, two sisters, and the childhood sweetheart with whom he had a crush.
The thought of them made him cry uncontrollably. He would never see them again. Oh, how he missed them. He needed to cherish these last remaining moments of solitude. His mind was like a slideshow of flashbacks of good memories. He needed to remember and visualize the happy moments of his time with his family.
The car slowed and turned, which interrupted his thoughts. The road was now bumpy. He could hear the tires making a crunching noise like it was rolling over leaves. Branches scraped the side of the car. Oh no, Leon figured that they were driving him into a wooded area. His fears were being realized.
After what seem like a half mile, the car came to a slow stop. He could hear the men get out of the car and stroll over towards the trunk.
He tried to wipe the tears but wasn’t able to reach his shoulder. He didn’t want to give them the pleasure of seeing him frightened. One last scene—he needed to think of one last happy scene because the next
real
scene was surely to be of horror and pain.
~~~~
Three Days Earlier
In the evening, five men gathered in a smoke-filled room at the Dodge County Men’s Social Club, an organization whose stated purpose was to provide a place:
Where white men could network with other white men to continue to make Dodge County a great place to live
. But most people knew that it was not a social club—it was the local headquarters of the Fraternity of the Texas Klans, otherwise known as the KKK in Texas.
“I called this meeting because I heard that the nigger, Leon Brooks, has been causing problems,” barked Atwood Baker, the Imperial Wizard and leader of the KKK for the whole state of Texas. Everyone called him the “Judge” because he was the Chief Justice on the Texas Supreme Court. The Judge was tall, skinny, and impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit with a stylish hat. The Judge spent most of his time in Austin, Texas, but made a special trip back home to Dodge County to resolve the county’s current perceived problem.
“Yeah, he’s trying to recruit more niggers to vote,” said Sheriff Jefferson Mason, a tall, heavy-set, bald man in his early fifties.
The Judge spoke harshly, “You think so, Sheriff. … He’s setting up a fuckin’ full-blown voting drive. Are you fuckin’ blind?”
The Sheriff froze and knew not to speak. Everyone knew not to interrupt the Judge. The Judge was ruthless and even had white people lynched in the past.
“He’s got niggers and nigger lovers convinced that they are safe and nothing is going to happen to them if they vote,” the Judge continued. “They’re flying high from the damn
Brown versus Board of Education
case decided back in June.”
“Yeah, Leon came back from a Negro college in Georgia, and now he thinks he’s smart,” said Tyler Mason, Sheriff Mason’s son and a police deputy. Everyone called him “Junior.”
“We’ve got to do something about it,” said the Judge. “We can’t have niggers voting. We’re barely winning these elections with all the nigger lovers voting against us. Sheriff, you barely won the last election.”
“Yes, I’m fully aware of that, Judge,” replied the Sheriff. “What do you think we should do?”
“Let’s rough him up a bit—beat the shit out of him,” suggested Archie Young, the president of the local bank.
“No,” said the Judge. The Judge paused. “I want to send a bigger message than that.”
Although everyone in the room and many white people knew the Judge was the leader of the Klan in Texas, the Klan tried very hard to keep it secret from the Negroes and the Negro sympathizers. Even this meeting was secretly organized. The Judge was careful not to let anyone see him enter the county. He drove straight to the Social Club and parked in the back.
It was important to their cause for the Judge to remain a mystery. He held the highest elected judicial office in the state. He controlled most of the other eight justices, the justices from the Texas Criminal Appellate Court, and the governor. It was important for their cause because they operated with immunity to the laws. They set the laws, and those laws were one sided for the white man.
“Yeah, let’s burn down his daddy’s house,” said Acton Cox, the owner of Dodge County’s oldest barbershop. Acton was the local leader of the Klan and reported directly to the Judge.
The Judge pressed his fingertips together while thinking about the suggestions. The Judge paused and spoke softly and slowly. “No, guys, we got to send a bigger message.”
“Oh,” the Sheriff replied with a concerned look.
Everyone in the room knew what the Judge meant.
Junior spoke the obvious, “We are overdue for a lynching. We haven’t done one in about two years.”
“Let’s keep it down,” said the Judge.
The Sheriff glared at his son for speaking his mind. All the men in the room were in their fifties except Junior. The older men were a perfect age because they were too young for World War I and too old for World War II. Junior, on the other hand, recently fought in the Korean War. So the Sheriff was able to convince the others to let Junior be a part of the Klan leadership due to his war record, the fact that he was the Sheriff’s son, and he was also the police deputy. The men reluctantly agreed.
“I don’t know,” Archie replied. “Times are different now. We got to be careful.” Archie, being the one who controlled the money in the city, was a little braver than the other men in the room and would speak his mind sometimes—but carefully.
“Archie, what’re you saying?” the Judge asked.
“All I’m saying is that we have to be careful,” Archie said defensively.
“We’re always careful,” replied the Sheriff.
“I know, but the Hoover boys might parachute in like they just did in Mississippi,” Archie replied. “We can’t have that. This has to be done right.”
“There’s no reason why the Feds should come here for one little lynching,” Acton said. “This would be a local matter.”
“I don’t know,” replied Archie. “The more I think about this, the more I think this is a bad idea. Can’t we just rough him up a little bit and discourage him? I mean this is going to be bad for new business. People might be afraid to do business in Dodge County. We might not get anymore government contracts.”
“Look, we don’t need any more outsiders here,” said Junior.
“We need outsiders to buy our manufactured products,” Archie said irritably.
“Look, Archie we can’t have more niggers voting,” said the Judge. “These niggers are going to start demanding that they got to go to our schools.”
“That will never happen in Dodge County,” the Sheriff blurted. “That Supreme Court decision doesn’t apply to us. Even if it did, we would never enforce it.”
“Guys, I’m not asking for your vote,” the Judge said. “We have to eliminate Leon. He’s dangerous. Now, let’s talk about the details. Sheriff who do you recommend that we put on it?”
The Sheriff sighed and gazed over at Acton, the barber. “Acton, it looks like a job for Lucky. What do you think?”
“Of course, it has to be Lucky,” replied Acton. “He and his wrecking crew should take care of it.”
Lucky’s real name was Bob Bennett. He wasn’t called “Lucky” because he was good at gambling or won a lot of prizes. He also wasn’t called “Lucky” because he smoked a lot of Lucky Strikes as most people thought because he
did
smoke a lot of Lucky Strikes. But the inner Klan called him “Lucky” for an entirely different reason. They called him Lucky because he always burnt his victims with his Lucky Strikes before he inflicted his ultimate punishment on them. Lucky was a massive man in his fifties. He was about six-six with barely any fat. He owned a construction company, which kept him fit.
“How much do you think we should pay him, Judge?” asked Acton.
“I think we need to pay him and his crew five hundred dollars total?” the Judge replied.
“Five hundred dollars!” exclaimed the Sheriff. “Why so much?”
“This is important,” the Judge said. “Plus he has to pay off his crew. We got to keep Lucky happy and motivated.”
“Sheriff, go ahead and arrange it,” said Acton.
The Judge interjected, “Acton, let everyone in this room know the planned day that Lucky is going to do the job, so we can all have an alibi.”
“Sure,” replied Acton. “I’m sure he will want to get right on it, so I expect in a couple of days, but I will let y’all know for sure.”
~~~~
Three Days Later
From inside the trunk, Leon shivered as he heard the noise of his enemies. He knew the men well. They were the most feared white men in Dodge County. It was Lucky and two of his construction foremen. They were not nice to Negroes and most Negroes assume that Lucky was the culprit behind the hooded masks that tortured the town every so often. They could tell because of his tall stature and his unique voice. His voice was overly hoarse probably because he smoked so much.
The men caught Leon by surprise earlier during the day. Leon was a laborer for Lucky’s construction company, Bennett Construction. Even though Leon had a college degree, he was only able to get a low-paying laborer job. He hoped to save enough money to go to law school.
Leon was working on a large construction site of a new, local general store. Towards the end of this shift, the foreman asked Leon to help him carry a heavy door outside to the back.
“Hey, boy, give me a hand with this,” barked John Favors, the foreman on duty.
Of course, Leon did not dare to refuse. Leon walked backwards while he carried one side of the door, and John Favors carried the other side. The outside door was already opened, so Leon continued outside per Mr. Favor’s instructions. Once they got outside, they placed the door on a set of sawhorses. Leon thought that was odd. He wasn’t sure why they were carrying out the door in the first place. Favors closed the door behind them.